Page 51 of The Black Key

I’m carrying a basket of Coral’s laundry down to be washed, lost in thoughts of the surrogates, of the Auction, of the impending deadline that moves closer each day.

Lucien’s workshop keeps popping up in my head, too—the bubbling beakers, the unfinished painting, the wall of clocks that symbolize his childhood. I hate the promise I made to him, but I know I’ll keep it. Lucien is right. That place should never fall into royal hands.

I’m barely paying attention to where I’m going, so when I round a corner and run straight into Dr. Blythe, I drop the laundry, and some of Coral’s undergarments spill onto the stone floor.

“Oh!” I cry, stooping quickly to pick them up.

“I’m terribly sorry.” Dr. Blythe reaches down to lend a hand but I wave him off.

“No, no, it’s all right, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.” I take my time, stuffing a silk chemise into the basket, hoping he’ll be on his way.

“You are just the person I was looking for.” Dr. Blythe seems delighted to see me. The feeling is not mutual. “Please remind Coral she needs to schedule an appointment with me before the Auction, so that we may go over the protocol for creating an embryo, compatibility with a surrogate, all that sort of thing.”

“Y-yes,” I stammer, standing up. “Of course.”

“How would six o’clock this evening be?”

I keep my eyes trained down at the basket in my hands. “That should be fine. She will be in the Bank for her final dress fitting at two but I can have her back by six.”

“Excellent.” The doctor claps his hands together and gives me a polite nod. “Good afternoon.”

I drop into a quick curtsy and make my way down the hall, handing the laundry off to a red-faced washerwoman. I take the stairs back up to the second floor by the east wing. Just as I’ve emerged from behind the bust of the old Duke, I run into another familiar face.

Rye is impeccably dressed, as usual. I haven’t really seen him in this palace without Carnelian, but he’s alone now. And looking at me strangely. I curtsy again, for lack of a better idea. He glances behind him at the empty hall, then turns back to me.

“Violet?” he says quietly.

My eyes widen. “How—”

But before I can say another word, he pulls me into a small room across the hall. Butterflies in glass cases line the walls.

Rye grips my wrist, my pulse humming against his fingers.

“Ash sends his regards. To both of us.”

“Is he all right?” I ask. “Where is he? Have you spoken to him?”

“No, but someone else has. A mutual friend.”

I assume he means another companion.

“Who? When?”

He chuckles lazily and I wonder if he’s on drugs. “No one you know. And yesterday.”

“Did he say anything about my brother?”

“Your what? No.” Rye looks me up and down and whistles. “He said you looked different, but . . . wow. You surrogates are full of surprises.”

“I’m not a surrogate anymore,” I say.

“Right,” he says. “Anyway, I wanted to tell you earlier but it’s hard getting away from Carnelian.”

“I bet,” I mutter.

He grins. “Yeah, she’s pretty obsessed with Ash. Can’t stop asking me questions about him. The Duchess, too. At first, at least. She stopped after a while. Not Carnelian though.”

“Terrific,” I say dryly, switching the subject to more important matters. “Has he spoken to any other companions? Are they willing to help us?”